Tag: California

Life Changing African Adventure: Judge at National Drama Festival in Zimbabwe

THIS IS A REPRINT OF A STORY FROM OCTOBER 2016. START OF A NEW SERIES CALLED AFRICAN ADVENTURES.

National Flag and Symbol of Zimbabwe

THE START

In 2012, I accepted an offer to take a temporary job in Africa. At the time I did not know that this opportunity would quite literally change the entire fabric of my life. This trip would be so much more than just an adventure but in fact would be an overwhelming experience that would lead me to change the entire direction and focus of my life.

In 2011, my life was kind of falling apart. A three-year relationship with a woman who I loved very much had ended. I was still reeling from the aftermath of the world-wide economic downtown that had closed my real estate investment business and was forcing my house toward foreclosure. To cover the expenses of running my suddenly upside-down house, I was renting out every extra bedroom that I had to college students who went to school at the close-by University of Southern California. My only other income at the time was running a small non-profit theatre where I served as Producing Artistic Director. Theatre is one of the great passions of my life, but after 25 years leading a small non-profit arts group, I was exhausted and burned out.

I desperately needed a break, or as one friend put it best – “I needed an escape from my own life”. Yet, there was no lifeline nor escape. As my house edged ever closer to foreclosure, my despair grew, and my options were shrinking fast. It was at that moment that one morning an email arrived in my inbox. It was an email that I had been expecting, but I was not really sure how I felt about it. I had been communicating about a possible gig job with an arts group in Zimbabwe. One of my former theatre students when I taught at Pepperdine University in Malibu, CA., was from Zimbabwe, and her mother was a volunteer administrator for this organization. My former student had put us together and on a lark, I had applied to work for them.

Harare, Zimbabwe – Capitol city of Zimbabwe

THE JOB

The job was to be the Judge or Adjudicator for a national drama festival that takes place in Zimbabwe every year. The drama festival was part of an even larger series of arts festivals run by a group known as the National Institute of Allied Arts. The National Institute of Allied Arts is a 100-year-old volunteer organization founded by the British colonials to instill public speaking, drama, music, literature and visual arts into the white children of Zimbabwe. But over time and with the change of governments and Zimbabwe getting its freedom in 1980, the organization become one of the first to open its doors to all the children of Zim. Every year about 30 thousand+ children take part in 4 festivals a year in music, visual arts, literature and drama.

If hired I would be the first American to adjudicate their national drama festival. The job would take about 2 to 3 weeks and the adjudicator would see about 15000 children perform in various theatre and public speaking categories. The job paid a small salary and promised all living expenses would be covered. The catch was the adjudicator had to figure out a way to get to Zimbabwe and pay for it themselves. But who ever came as a reward, they would be given a two-week tour around Zimbabwe. They would see places with names that I had never heard but would soon become very familiar with in the coming weeks and years. Places like Harare, the capital city, Kwekwe, Gweru, Great Zim, Matopos National Park, Vic Falls, Bulawayo, and so many more.

The email offered me the job and seeing this as the escape that I needed and desperately wanted, I quickly said yes. The Festival would be in June and so the plans began in earnest. Being broke and not having the money to pay for the trip, I lied and told them I did. I swiftly started a campaign to raise the money. I wrote a small grant through my theatre, held a garage sale, and ran a Kickstarter fundraising campaign. Plus I also got 500 dollars from the US Embassy in Zimbabwe, but more on that later. In a matter of 3 weeks, I raised the 1500 dollars needed for the flight.

Zimbabwe here I come!!!

With the help of another friend, I managed to get a small guest teaching job in Rome, Italy for a week on the way back from Zimbabwe. I would spend a week there and then have two weeks of traveling very cheaply in Europe. Upon my return to the US, I would still be broke but maybe not in despair anymore.

LAX in Los Angeles

Wednesday, June 13, 2012, Los Angeles
Still I leave in 4 days. The rush to get everything done. What to pack? How much is too much or too little? The excitement! The fear! Of flying and being away for over two months! The voice of my doctor in my head. Don’t eat that, don’t drink that, wash all your food yourself, sanitize everything, don’t touch anything – really? People live there, what do they do? I am sure that every person who goes out to dinner in a large city in Africa does not ask to wash the vegetables. Next he would have told me not to breathe the air just to be on the safe side.

There are certainly concerns about health issues, I get that. Drink bottled water, be careful what you eat, be observant of the things around you. But if we are all that cautious, we would never leave our home. As Ben Franklin said – “all things in moderation.” I find that to still be one of the best pieces of advice every given. Try everything, do everything – just be reasonable about it.

I rented my own personal room out at my house. So even if I want to come back – I have to sleep on the couch. So, I might as well just stay overseas, right.
I am packing for two different hemispheres, and it is crazy. Winter in one place – seems mild in Zimbabwe. Pleasant days, chilly nights. It will be blazing hot in Rome in mid-July. You need to bring enough, but you want to travel light. Ahh, adventures in packing. And of course, it never fails no matter how organized you are when you are somewhere over the Atlantic, you remember that “most important” item aside from your passport that you left behind.
I leave in 4 days. The adventure begins. Whether I am ready or not. The plane leaves in 4 days. I am on it!!

“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” – John Steinbeck

Delayed passengers inside Terminal 7 at Los Angeles International Airport line up to go through TSA security check following a false alarm event in Los Angeles, California U.S August 28, 2016. REUTERS/Bob Riha Jr

Monday, June 18, 2012, DAY 0. Los Angeles.

I take off in 3 hours. After 8 months of work and luck and reaching out, it is about to happen. I take a red eye to DC. to meet my plane to Addis Abeba, Ethiopia. Than on from there to Harare. There are no words to describe how I feel at the moment. Excitement, fear, apprehension, joy all mixed up together. Here is praying for a safe journey to Harare. If you have good thoughts, please send them along.

My way to Zimbabwe – Ethiopian Airlines

“The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.” – G. K. Chesterton ]

Next update from DC on Day 1. Cheers –

Starstruck: Mel Gibson and My Cat’s Unexpected Meeting

The true real life encounter of my cat with Mel Gibson.
Part of a new series about my real life in Hollywood-
Up In The Attic.

In a bygone era, I was the proud owner of a quaint theatre nestled in the heart of Hollywood—the Attic Theatre. My partner, Denise Reagan Wiesenmeyer, and I ran this cozy establishment, complete with a 50-seat auditorium, a small company of actors, administrative offices, and a rear dance studio that we leased out for classes and rehearsals.

Our theatre found its home in an aging edifice on Santa Monica Blvd. The building itself had witnessed decades of history as it was right in the middle of film soundstages, lighting and equipment companies, small production companies and the industrial part of the film business. I knew little of its early days, except for a fascinating tidbit: during World War II, the building had housed a parachute factory. Back then, parachutes were a novelty and considered a military weapon, and the building stood under military watch as these life-saving contraptions were meticulously packed.

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The building’s owner, an elderly gentleman, treated it as a mere revenue stream. Maintenance was an afterthought, and the structure bore the scars of neglect. I acquired the theatre from a man named Bill Sorrell, who, along with the Swayze brothers—Patrick and Donnie—had birthed the Attic Theatre. The Swayze siblings, fresh from Texas, had ventured to Hollywood with their wives, eager to make their mark in the film industry. Their fateful collaboration with Bill Sorrell gave rise to the Attic Theatre.

Perched on the second floor of the ancient building, the Attic Theatre became our creative haven. Denise and I assumed control in 1987, launching a vibrant repertoire of plays. By 1990, we had also taken over abandoned office space within the same structure and fashioned a humble four-room apartment complete with a kitchen. It lacked opulence but offered proximity to our artistic endeavors.

The old building 2016. The Attic was on the second floor left side. Building was shut down in 2001 and we moved to Culver City area.

As struggling artists, our lives revolved around the theater. We juggled outside jobs to make ends meet, but the Attic was our sanctuary—a realm where autonomy reigned supreme. No one dictated our choices; we were masters of our own destiny.

Our little theatre somehow defied the odds. Despite our shoestring budget and the building’s faded grandeur, the Attic Theatre thrived. We churned out good plays and sometimes even great productions. We were earning a reputation as a haven for artists—a place where creativity blossomed, and dreams took flight.

I had taken a brief business trip and Denise, my capable partner, held down the fort while I was away. She was the beating heart of our operation, both a good administrator and a wonderful theatre producer. Upon my return, we convened to discuss the theatre business and that is when she told me that a company by the name of Icon Productions had booked the dance studio for a reading of a screenplay. The name immediately caught my attention because I knew Icon Productions was Mel Gibson’s production company. In the early ’90s, Mel wasn’t just an actor; he was a cinematic force, weaving tales both in front of and behind the camera as a producer and director. I was shocked that such a prestigious outfit would choose our modest theatre. Our place, though well-maintained, was a little low rent for a major film company to use for their reading.

ICON Image

I kept the news from Denise. She idolized Mel Gibson, and I didn’t want to raise her hopes prematurely. But curiosity gnawed at me. Why here?

Days later, the phone rang—a production manager for Icon Productions was on the line. His concern? Parking. The executives attending the reading needed ample space. I inquired about the headcount: around 30. Our parking lot, alas, was a postage stamp—a handful of spots shared among tenants. I explained this to the manager, emphasizing that the spaces weren’t mine to allocate and that the executives would have to park on the street or arrange other alternatives. He assured me that this would not be a problem.

Mel Gibson as he is today.

It was then that I informed Denise that it was Mel Gibson’s company who was renting our space and that he might be there. She became so excited that I thought she was going to faint. Even though the production meeting for Mel Gibson’s company was still two days away, she went back there and immediately started cleaning up the studio to make it look as perfect for Mel Gibson as she could.

The day finally arrived—and my worst fears came true. The Hollywood elite, their luxury cars began arriving and filling the parking lot. Land Rovers, Mercedes, Jaguars—all vying for our meager parking spaces. The other tenants, unaccustomed to this overflow, erupted in protest. I was caught in the crossfire, played reluctant traffic cop, my pleas drowned out by irate voices.

The production manager, seemingly impervious to chaos, stood his ground. Executives, he declared, wouldn’t be relegated to street parking. Our arrangement meant nothing to him. I told him that maybe the cars would be towed by the other businesses. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I watched helplessly as the luxury cars multiplied, stacking atop one another while the other businesses’ patrons were relegated to the curb, and the tenants hurled colorful expletives my way.

And there, amidst the parking mayhem, Denise was star-struck. She’d met Mel, her eyes wide as saucers, and guided him upstairs. The plain and unassuming rehearsal studio was now filled with high powered movie execs including Mel Gibson as the executive producer, while production assistants scurried, setting tables, arranging chairs, and stocking coolers with drinks and lunch.

Example of a table read for a film. This was not Mr. Gibson’s read.

The script that they were reading was a new one that they were considering producing as a movie. There were no other movie stars there besides Mel. It was just executives hearing the production assistants read the movie out loud to see what they thought about it.

Occasionally Denise would go to the rehearsal hall to check if they needed anything, but I think it was secretly to see Mel. Down in the parking lot I had morphed from theater manager/owner to an impromptu parking valet, my frustration simmering beneath a veneer of professionalism. Yet, I wanted to keep their business in case they ever come back. Often, I would go upstairs to get keys from the production manager for a certain car to move so the other tenants’ customers could use the space. I was pissed off, but I just wanted to get through the day. They were booked for only four hours, and I managed to hold off the other businesses owners until finally it was over. Than all the executives began to leave and all the luxury cars that had been crammed into our parking lot like sardines, now vanished into the afternoon traffic. Eventually, everyone was gone, and I walked up to the office.  

Denise, her starstruck glow undiminished, wanted to thank Mel personally. So, we wandered back through the theatre, through the backstage, and opened the connecting door to the rehearsal hall.

Now remember we lived at the theatre space, and we had a cat. Our cat was named Squirrel, a beautiful female that we’d had since just after she was born. One day, a few years before, a very tiny kitten had somehow managed to survive extremely busy Santa Monica Blvd and had wandered up the stairs to our theatre and just sat there. Denise did not live with me at the time and so I tried to shoo the cat away, but she wouldn’t leave. So eventually I fed the tiny little kitten, and from then I belonged to her. Cats have a way of just kind of staking their claim on you and that’s what Squirrel did. There’s an old saying about cats that goes “dogs have owners, cats have staff”, and it is very true. Our cat got her name when Denise moved in because of the way she bounced and ran around all over the place like a crazy squirrel out in your front yard.

Mel Gibson as he looked at the time of kicking Squirrel

So, Squirrel had followed us back as we were saying goodbye to Mel Gibson and the production manager who had booked the space. There were still 2 production assistants there folding up the tables and chairs and packing up the food. Now Mel Gibson is not a big man. He is probably about 5’6 or 5’7 and had on cowboy boots to jack him up another couple of inches. Most leading men in Hollywood are actually quite short. He seemed fairly nice, and both Denise and I were fans of his. She was more gaga than I was, but I was very impressed that Mel Gibson was standing in my business.

While we are standing around saying our goodbyes, Squirrel who was a very people friendly feline was wandering around and she rubbed up against Mel Gibson’ leg. Inexplicably Mel Gibson drew back his boot and forcefully kicked Squirrel about 6 feet across the rehearsal room.

OWWWWWW!

I was shocked at his action and quickly checked to see if my cat was ok. I looked over at Denise, and the look on her face made it clear she was as upset as I was. Turning to Mel Gibson, I asked, “Why did you just kick my cat?”

Mel Gibson looked at me and said, “I don’t like cats. I don’t want them anywhere around me.”

I responded, “Well she’s our cat and this is her house. She only trying to be friendly.”

Mel Gibson said, “I don’t give a damn! Keep the cat away from me.”

Maybe it’s because I was irritated from 4 hours of re-parking the cars of over privileged and inconsiderate movie executives who had showed no regard for my business or the people who worked in the building, yet without hesitation, I told Mel Gibson, “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Everybody in the room froze. The two production assistants regarded me with astonishment, as if I had blasphemed the Almighty.  The production manager was completely shocked. Mel regarded me for a second and said, “Well, you have a crappy theatre anyway.”

I said, “That may be true, but you’ve already paid me for it. Have a good day.”

At which point Mel Gibson turned, and he and his big cowboy boots stomped loudly down the wooden stairs to the parking lot. After he had quit stomping down the stairs, the production manager turned to me, “People don’t speak to Mr. Gibson that way.”

“Well people don’t kick my cat either. When you guys get all packed up, you can go as well.” I asked Denise to make sure that they left, and I picked up our bewildered cat and went back to our apartment.

I understood that some people have an aversion for cats for whatever reason, but you do not go into someone’s home or business and kick their cat that hard. I thought it was very arrogant and a cruel way to treat someone else’s animal and pet.

Mel’s mug shot after his arrest.

It was a few years later that, Mel Gibson had his major blowout with the Jewish policeman who pulled him over for drunk driving in Malibu, California. Mel berated the man, calling him all kinds of ethnic and racial slurs. When I heard the story, I was not shocked. During our encounter in the rehearsal room, I had concluded that he didn’t seem like a very nice man.

I’m still a Mel Gibson fan to a degree. I think he’s a wonderful director and a good actor, but I probably would not want to speak to him if given the opportunity. That is the true story of when Mel Gibson kicked my cat.

When Denise left to move back to Illinois because of an illness in 2000, the new owner of the building began trying to force all the tenants out. He raised our rent 4 times in 4 months. I was forced to move the theatre to the Culver City area on Washington Blvd and continued running it until 2016 when I sold the theatre company to another group.

The front door to the old Attic Theatre in Hollywood. Building is now vacant.

For the official record, I hereby attest that the following account is my own personal recollection of the events that transpired, over a quarter-century ago, within the confines of my theatre. The building is still standing on Santa Monica Blvd., though now abandoned since the year 2001. The other tenants and businesses have all gone or moved. I am unconnected to their present whereabouts.

My dearest friend and confidante, Denise, she passed away in 2007, her laughter and camaraderie forever etched in my heart.

As for the employees of Mr. Gibson and his company, I never knew them or their names, and have no idea where they currently may be.

The building as it looks now in 2023. Completely abandoned and derelict.

COPYRIGHT 2024 – CAREY ON CREATIVE, LLC., ATLANTA, GA.

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Buy This New Book

The new book of short stories by James Carey. On sale at Amazon and Kindle.

Subject: Exclusive Pre-Sale Offer: “Three Days in Hamburg & Other Stories”

Dear Friends, Family, and Esteemed Subscribers,

I want to thank you for being readers of TripswithJames. I have enjoy writing my articles for you over the years about travel and the film business. I’m truly thrilled to announce the pre-sale launch of my debut book, Three Days in Hamburg & Other Stories. 📚✨ I could use your assistance in making my first book a success.

About the Book:

Three Days in Hamburg & Other Stories is a collection of eleven captivating tales that will transport you to intriguing worlds. From crumbling marriages to lost fortunes, superpowered aliens to Viking zombies, these stories promise excitement, mystery, and unexpected twists.

Why You Should Grab Your Copy:

  1. Early Access: Be among the first to delve into these enchanting narratives before the official release.
  2. Special Price: For a limited time, the e-book is available at an unbeatable price of $0.99.
  3. Support a Dream: By purchasing during the pre-sale, you contribute to making this book a bestseller.

AMAZON LINK – http://amazon.com/author/jrc.128

How You Can Help:

  1. Order Now: Visit Amazon and secure your copy.
  2. Spread the Word: Share this exciting news with your book-loving friends and family.
  3. Leave a Review: After reading, leave an honest review on Amazon—it makes a world of difference!

AMAZON LINK – http://amazon.com/author/jrc.128

Let’s Make It a Bestseller:

Our goal? To achieve bestseller status by May 1, 2024. With your support, we can make it happen!

Thank you for being part of this incredible journey. Let’s celebrate the magic of storytelling together.

Amazon Pre-Sale Link – http://amazon.com/author/jrc.128

Warm regards,

James R. Carey Author, Three Days in Hamburg & Other Stories

P.S. Remember, this special pre-sale price won’t last long. Grab your copy now: Amazon Pre-Sale Link – http://amazon.com/author/jrc.128

MY NEW BOOK – THREE DAYS IN HAMBURG & OTHER STORIES – NOW ON SALE AT AMAZON.COM

James R. Carey’s debut on Amazon at $0.99 at www.amazon.com/author.jrc.128 , the book comprises personal, fantasy, and memory-based stories. The title short story, inspired by his own dissolving marriage amid the pandemic, is a semi-true story based on real life events.

This is my first book – one of several to come I hope. You can find it on Amazon.com for the price of $0.99 as a presale special. I hope that enough people will buy it and make it head for bestseller status. (One can dream).

Follow the link www.amazon.com/author/jrc.128 and that will take you directly to my Author page and you can buy directly from there. An excerpt to the title story follow below.

EXCERPT FROM THREE DAYS IN HAMBURG

“My cell phone rang at exactly 11 PM. I picked it up and looked at the caller ID. It was my wife. The call caught me by surprise as we had been having some tough times for the past few months. She was calling from Hamburg, Germany, where she had gone to visit her mother. There’s a 9-hour time difference between Hamburg and our home in West Adams, an area of Los Angeles where we had lived for 5 years. That made it 8 AM in the morning there. We hadn’t talked on the phone for a week, and our few emails to each other had been very terse.

“Hey, how are you?” I asked as I answered the phone.

Silence.

“Hey, can you hear me… Are you there…?”

“Yes, I’m here,” she answered in her odd combination of American & German accent. Something that I had always found very sexy.

“What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“Look I need to talk to you about something very important,” she said in a very flat voice. Hackles rose on the back of my neck and red flags began to appear. “I have been doing a lot of thinking, and I’m calling to tell you that I’m not coming back.”

“For how long? Is everything okay with your mother?” I asked, still unsure which direction this conversation was going to go.

“Mother is fine. I’m calling to tell you that I’m not coming back to you. I’m going to stay in Hamburg for a few more months, and when I come back, I’ll probably file for divorce.”

“What the fuck?”

“Look I don’t want to fight with you about this, please?” she said in a stern voice, cutting me off. “We just do this all the time. I’m tired of the tension. I’m tired of the arguments. I’m tired of being tired and stressed. I love you very much, but I just can’t go on living like this. So please respect my decision. Don’t call me and don’t write me one of your long angry emails. I just can’t take it. Please. And if you do call me, I’m just not going to respond. Okay? I love you, but I just can’t live like this anymore. I’m sorry.” With that, she hung up.

Shocked, I sat staring at the wall for what seemed like hours. Yes, we had not been doing well but I didn’t think it was this far gone. She went to Germany about three weeks before to celebrate her mother’s 70th birthday and to take a break from us and the tension in our house. It was the middle of the semester and I had not been able to leave my teaching gig. I had Face-Timed with my mother-in-law on her birthday and had briefly spoken to my wife. Things had seemed to be okay at least for the moment. This came as a major surprise.

Then I got angry. Really angry. I tried to call her back, but of course, it went straight to voicemail. Predictably, I left her an angry message. Then I poured myself a large Jack Daniels and stormed around the house for the next couple of hours holding imaginary conversations between myself and her telling her what a bitch she was, how unfair she was being and defending myself from all the supposed wrongs that I had done to her over the last few years. Finally, at about 1 AM, I took several hits of pot and fell asleep on the couch.

Somewhere I heard the distant ringing of a cell phone and some part of my brain realized that it was mine. Pulling myself from a deep sleep, I reached out for the phone where I had left it last night. Hoping that it was my wife, I looked at the caller ID and saw the number for work. It was 9:45 AM and I was an hour late for work.

In a groggy voice I answered, “Hello?” Lynda, my department head goes, “Where are you? You’re an hour late for your class.”

My thoughts just could not seem to connect last night to this morning, but I knew I had messed up in a major way. I just decided to tell the truth. “Lynda, my wife is leaving me. She’s in Germany and I have to catch the next plane to try and save my marriage.” – End of Excerpt!

(Excerpt from the short story “THREE DAYS IN HAMBURG” by James R. Carey. From the Book, THREE DAYS IN HAMBURG & OTHER STORIES. Copyright© 2024, James R. Carey. All Rights Reserved. Published with arrangement with CareyOn Creative, LLC, Atlanta, GA .)

Can be found at www.amazon.com/author/jrc.128

I HAVE ALWAYS WRITTEN –

My original plan for this book over four years ago was to be a few short stories surrounding a novella called The Ticket that I’ve been writing for about 5 years. It’s a great story in my head but it never has quite come together the way that I wanted it to on the page. So, it has never been finished.

That was the idea and then real life came along changing everything. A crumbling marriage, the pandemic, a move to the other side of the country, and a new city and start all seem to move the stories in another direction. The stories began to take on the form that they wanted to take, and I just kind of followed along.

Some stories are very personal, others are fantasy. Some are memories of people or places, and some are combinations of all the above. Some are new, and some are old. Some came very easily, and some took months to write. This collection of stories is quite different than the one I intended, but it is the one that came to life.

The title story was written in the early days of the pandemic in my home office in Los Angeles as I tried to come to grips with my dissolving marriage. My then wife and I were still speaking, and she was the first to read it. Her appraisal of it was “very hard for me to read but it’s very good”. Not sure if she meant that or not, but I will take it.

As a young boy I wrote ideas for stories and comic books. First it was crazy little stories about flying turtles or other idiotic ideas, but I thought they were funny, and it kept me entertained as I listened to my parents argued downstairs or sitting by myself in the school cafeteria. Later in my teenage years, the stories became dark ones of loneliness, escape, teenaged angst and desire. However, they could never finish because I wasn’t old enough to know where life was supposed to take you. So, if I didn’t throw them away, they got stuck in a drawer.

In college I discovered three things that I loved. First, was girls. The second was music so I wrote a ton of bad poetry and awful songs, truly little of which has survived to this day. The third thing I discovered was theatre so I wrote some unbelievably bad plays and screenplays. Not any of those survived.

Yet, I still continued to write down little ideas, thoughts, dialogue, situations, dramatic conflicts and the best of those got stuck in that drawer.

When I moved to Los Angeles, I had a writing partner for a while, so some of those ideas that had been stuck in the drawer for years came out. They were dusted off, reexamined and rewritten. Some were used, some were thrown away and some got stuck back in the drawer. Later when I opened my own theatre in Los Angeles with my partner Denise Ragan Weihenmayer called the Attic Theatre Ensemble, we had a lot of stage time to fill and actors to keep busy. So, I started adapting short stories and updating old plays to fill that void. The reaction to those adaptations was positive. I continue jotting down ideas and dialogue.

Eventually, I got married to a minor television star in Los Angeles and when her TV show got cancelled, I wrote her a play. She never performed in that play because we got divorced before I finished it. I did finish it, however. The play was a full-length comedy with dancing and the Devil, and a lot of food called Dancing in Hell. It got produced twice. Once at a university near Los Angeles, and once at my own theatre. It got complimentary reviews, but when those two productions were over. I put the script in the drawer.

I wrote a couple of short film screenplays that got produced, Owlman and A Cost of Freedom, but this was before the Film Festival circuit had become so big. So, the films and the screenplays went in that drawer.

An opportunity to start doing theatre festivals both in the United States and other parts of the world presented itself. This became a time period where I would write and perform one man shows and tour them around these various venues. The first one called Coming To Zimbabwe which debuted in Africa and was later optioned by a German production company to be done as a radio play for German speaking audiences around the world. It was the story of the first time I ever went to Africa and what a life-changing experience it was for me during a difficult part of my life. My second one-man show was called Mi Casa Su Casa where I talked about my large old house in the West Adams area of Los Angeles where I ran an Airbnb for 11 years and the people from all over the world who stayed with me. That was performed in Los Angeles, Atlanta, New England, and various parts of the United States and won several awards. Yet when those shows had run their course, those scripts got stuck in that drawer.

I married my second wife; a Danish woman and we had a very passionate but turbulent relationship. As our marriage fell apart, the pandemic struck, and I found myself stuck in my house in Los Angeles by myself for months. To keep myself busy I decided to paint a couple of rooms including one that had been my home office for over 15 years. As I was clearing out the room and moving items, I discovered that drawer with all the ideas, conversations, dialogue and scenarios that I had left shut for such an extraordinarily long time. As I read through the material, I realized that I had written a lot of stuff. I had written award-winning screenplays and theatre plays. So, with all this time on my hands, I decided to try and write short stories and see what happened.  I started and finished the first short story that I had written in probably 25 to 30 years and polished it in a couple of days. Then I rewrote a couple of stories that were in that drawer except now I was approaching them from an adult perspective. I changed them around a good bit and they’re in this book as well. With my marriage finally coming to an end, I wrote a fictionalized version of the last trip that we took together to Hamburg, Germany. Parts of the story are absolutely true, and other parts are as they used to say in an old television show, “the names have been changed to protect the innocent”. That story turned out to be Three Days in Hamburg and became the title story of this collection.

Over the past three years I’ve written more short stories, discarded them and written new ones. I have a novel I’ve been trying to finish. A memoir about my time in Africa that I have worked on sometimes. Written three more screenplays and a couple of them have being produced, but this book of short stories was always something I wanted to finish.

Now I have and I hope you enjoy it. I can’t say it was easy to write but it brings me immense joy to see it in its published form. Thank you for taking the time to pick it up.

Can be found at www.amazon.com/author/jrc.128

© Copyright Tripswithjames.com 2024. All rights reserved! Tripswithjames.com is a domain owned by CareyOn Creative, LLC, Atlanta, GA.

2 Gripping Spy Films: Traitor And The American

Some great films from early 2000s that feature known stars, great acting and storylines, excellent direction, and beautiful cinematography.

Are you looking for a couple of spy/thriller type movies that do not fit into the James Bond or Jason Borne genre. Maybe something that makes you think just a little before the action starts? Maybe something you did not see when the movie first came out but still is a really good movie? Well, I have two great films from the early 2000’s that feature known stars, great acting and storylines, and excellent direction and beautiful cinematography.

First up is TRAITOR (2008) starring Don Cheadle and Guy Pierce. The movie is beautifully rendered by Director Jeffrey Nachmanoff, who also wrote the screenplay that is based on a story written by Steve Martin. Yes, Steve (Wild and Crazy Guy) Martin.

Rotten Tomatoes gave it a rating of 65% based on 169 reviews, and Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times gave it 3 stars out of 4 and wrote in his review, “The movie proceeds quickly, seems to know its subject matter, is fascinating in its portrait of the inner politics and structure of the terrorist group, and comes uncomfortably close to reality. But what holds it together is the Cheadle character.”

This is a terrorism spy thriller that is both intelligent and exciting. Featuring the always interesting Don Cheadle, one of my favorite actors (and in person, a really nice guy), as a former Sudanese American US soldier with a background in explosives who seems to have crossed over and joined a terrorist organization. He is the prime suspect as the bomb-maker in a string of global terror explosions aimed at civilians. Hot on his trail is an FBI agent played by Guy Pierce, who as the movie progresses starts to wonder what Cheadle’s true intentions are.

“Traitor” weaves a web of conspiracy and intrigue, crosses politics with thriller elements, and never quite answers its central question: In the war between good and evil, how many good people is it justifiable for the good guys to kill? Maybe that question has no answer. It is probably not “none.” That ambiguity works in the film’s favor. As Cheadle’s character (Samir) enlists on the American side and then is seen as a remarkably effective agent for terrorist jihadists, we are kept wondering where his true loyalties lie.

This is not a typical terrorism film where all Middle Easterners are inherently anti-American and evil. This is a movie that takes the time to examine the beliefs and motivations behind the people who commit terrorism and the roots of terrorism. It tries to give us a reason why some people do these terrible things, and by doing that the “villains” all of a sudden, become people not just caricatures. It gives a depth and understanding to these characters that is chilling, extremely disturbing, but crystal clear as to what their motivations are.


Another thing that I (and Roger Ebert) found interesting about the movie was the way it goes inside the terrorist organizations – to the people who carry out the day-to-day operations of such groups. This is not a movie about the James Bond type villains who have billions of dollars and want world domination, or to bring America to its knees in one big explosion. This is a film about the little guys who do the grunt work. Who do what they do out of belief or anger or need, not the desire for world conquest.

Shot on location in Toronto (posing as Chicago), Marseille, France, and Marrakesh, Morrocco, the scenery is a beautiful background to the fast-paced action. The actors are all excellent from Cheadle and Pierce, to Said Taghmaoui, who plays Omar, one of the grunts who believes in the cause, but you can see his individual pain each step of the way. The film also co-stars Jeff Daniels, Neal McDonough and Archie Panjabi. This is a particularly good movie!

You can find TRAITOR currently available to stream with a subscription on STARZ for $9.99 / month. You can buy or rent Traitor for as low as $1.99 to rent or $5.99 to buy on Amazon Prime Video, Apple TV, iTunes, Google Play, Vudu, YouTube, and AMC on Demand.

THE AMERICAN (2010)

It was early September 2010, and all that summer I had seen clips for The American, a new movie starring George Clooney. It looked like a typical spy/action-adventure movie with chases, girls, guns, and an undefined evil. Yet what did we get instead of a James Bond/Jason Borne retread? We get a sparse, tightly controlled movie filled with silence, long takes, and a growing sense of dread.

The American was loosely based on a 1990 book called A Very Private Gentleman by Martin Booth. It was adapted for the screen by Rowan Joffe.’ It was marketed as a high action-adventure spy thriller and the reaction to the film from the audience was disappointment. What they got for their money was a slowly paced story of a hardened yet haunted assassin. This is a quiet movie, a thoughtful movie, a movie built on character, not plot. Ironically, The American is very European in feel and style. It is filmed for the most part in Italy, and cinematographer Martin Ruhe filled the movie with beautiful lingering shots of a lonely Italian countryside that seems as old as time itself. This timeless quality makes you almost imagine that you are about to see some Roman legion marching over the next hill off to conquer some far-off place.

We never know what George Clooney’s character did or why anyone is after him, but from the first minute of the film, a chase is on. George’s character, Jack, is fleeing for his life from a group of Swedish hitmen. Yet the pace of the movie or this chase is slow and unhurried. Instead of watching the wild chases and unending action as spies trying to kill other spies for world domination or getting revenge for passed deeds, we descend into the life and mind of a skilled killer, an American version of a samurai warrior. Stoic, impervious and expert, with a focus so narrow it is defined only by his skills and his master.

The tale is straightforward, but many questions remain unanswered even at the end of the movie, but they are not really germane to the core story. The movie opens on a snow-covered field in Sweden. Jack and his current lover/friend are walking through the snow when shots ring out. In short order, Jack kills two unknown men out to kill him plus his completely innocent lady friend for no other reason than she happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. With fewer than 10 lines of dialog we learn that Jack is a skilled and ruthless killer, who will do anything necessary to stay alive. Who and why is Jack being hunted we never learn, but we get swept up in the chase as he flees for his life from the unknown “Swedes.”

We next find him getting off a train in Rome and arranging a meeting with the mysterious Pavel (Johan Leysen). Pavel is his handler/boss/agent/manager? It is never quite clear what the relationship is, or who Pavel, and by extension who Jack work for. Are they CIA, MI-5, free-lancers? This we never know. Yet it is clear that Jack works for Pavel or serves him, because he never questions Pavel’s orders (Just like a samurai following orders from his master). Even when every fiber of his being tells him that Pavel is setting him up.

I won’t give you the whole plot here – I hate that by reviewers that never really review. They just retell you the story. So why see the movie?

George_Clooney_The_American_movie_image

Let just say that this is a wonderful movie. The director is Anton Corbijn, who shot the bio pic Control (2007), the story of Ian Curtis, lead singer of Joy Division, who was a suicide at age 23. There is not a wrong shot. Every performance is tightly controlled. Clooney is in complete command of his effect. This is a wonderfully shot study of the loneliness of a bad man searching for redemption and a way out of the incredibly sad and terrible life he has created for himself.

For me one of the best movies of that year 2010.

On Rotten Tomatoes, the film holds an approval rating 66% based on 224 reviews. The website’s review states: “As beautifully shot as it is emotionally restrained, The American is an unusually divisive spy thriller—and one that rests on an unusually subdued performance from George Clooney.” Roger Ebert gave it 4 out of 4 stars saying, “Here is a gripping film with the focus of a Japanese drama. It is so rare to see a film this carefully crafted.” Leonard Maltin called it a “slowly paced, European-style mood piece, short on dialogue and action and long on atmosphere.”

Couple of interesting facts about the film are that the director purposely paid homage to the American spaghetti western in many of his scenes. In one scene the Sergio Leone film Once Upon the Time in The West plays on a TV set in the background while George Clooney eats alone in a restaurant. Also, whole chunks of dialogue that are spoken between Clooney and his prostitute lover, Clara, are lifted verbatim from Graham Greene’s The Honorary Consul.

You can find The American on Amazon Prime, Microsoft Store, iTunes, Vudu and Apple TV renting for 3.99 or to buy at 14.99. It is also available on Google Play and YouTube, but no pricing was available.

George_Clooney_The_American_movie_image

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LOVE POTION THE FILM

LOVE POTION is a psychological horror film with supernatural overtones that we are shooting in Atlanta, GA in January of 2023. It is what is called a “proof of concept” short film to present to producers/movie studios as the showcase for a possible longer film or TV series based on the story elements of our film. We also plan to release this film on the film festival circuit as well.

I do not usually promote my filmmaking projects on this site. I try to keep it just about travel related blogs and information, but two big film related events are coming up for me that I am really excited to share.

First, a film of mine (A Cost of Freedom) that I have talked about here a few months ago is going to screen on Nov. 10th in Los Angeles. I am flying out for the event from my new home in Atlanta, GA. I will do an entire post on the event, the red carpet, the response to the film and Los Angeles in general since I have not ever just been there as a tourist. I always lived there when I wrote about it. More to come on that exciting event.

The other event and the one I am talking about today is the launch of the website for my next film project LOVE POTION. The site is live right now and starting to draw attention which we are super excited about. The site is also a base for our crowd funding which will officially start on Tuesday, Oct 25th when we kick off our Indiegogo.com page. We are trying to raise $8000 to produce the movie and I hoping that you support the project by sharing information and these posts, following and possibly even contributing to the film at www.lovepotionthefilm.com

LOVE POTION is a psychological horror film with supernatural overtones that we are shooting in Atlanta, GA in January of 2023. It is what is called a “proof of concept” short film to present to producers/movie studios as the showcase for a possible longer film or TV series based on the story elements of our film. We also plan to release this film on the film festival circuit as well.

Ahren Steis, Lainie Smith, James Carey

I wrote the script and will be directing the movie. The leading actress and Co-Producer of the film is the award winning Lainie Smith, a very well known Atlanta actress and motivator of this project. The Cinematographer  will be Ahren Steis, and his wife Melissa Steis will serves as the Production Coordinator. We have assembled a stellar cast which will be announced at a later date.  

There will be many more travel articles coming your way, but we ask you if you would SUBSCRIBE, FOLLOW and SHARE our information about LOVE POTION. This way YOU CAN BE PART of the film as well. Reach out to us at any of our social media sites listed at the bottom of this page or email us at :

info@lovepotionthefilm.com

#lovepotionthefilm

Facebook – @lovepotionthefilm

Instagram –@lovepotionthefilm

 Thank you!

Photo Images of the Salton Sea, California

The wasteland of the Salton Sea, California

All Photos by James Carey

Copyright 2024, Carey-On Creative, LLC, Atlanta, GA. Tripswithjames.com is a trademark of Carey-on Creative, LLC.

Leaving LA: What a Long Strange Trip It Was

Saying goodbye to LA and California, and heading East.

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off too.” J.R.R.Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings.

It was 3:15 AM on March 16th and the Road was calling. I was wide awake staring at the ceiling. I had been trying to go back to sleep for the past 45 minutes and it just wasn’t going to happen. What I didn’t know was the strange last-day-in-California adventure that awaited me over the next 24 hours that would include casinos, a salt water lake, an apocalyptic ruin, an Alaskan in the middle of the desert, and a stripper/dance contest in Yuma, AZ. How did the Road sweep me away on this adventure?  Well, that’s where this story begins!

The Hacienda. My home for 20 years!

My house was empty! The place I had called home for 20 years was now completely empty.

Everything is gone except these things!

Every stick of furniture, every piece of paper, every knickknack, tchotchkech, and geegaw that I had ever possessed was gone! Over the past week I had sponsored an estate sale and then a truck from a local charity had come by and picked up the last possessions that I had not wanted to keep. For weeks before that I had been packing and sorting and throwing out massive amounts of junk. Then out of a large 17 room house, I only had two small U-Haul pods of possessions left that I had personally loaded and sent on their way towards Atlanta. The only thing that was still left in the house was the long-time caretaker of the property that had allowed me to travel the world as much as I had and who also happened to be my roommate, Kirk. He would be staying in the house for about another month until it sold and then he would be off on his own new adventure. I had said goodbye to Kirk and then booked a room in a Koreatown hotel. After checking in, I had gotten a takeout pizza and two large cans of beer which I had in my hotel room while watching some terrible movie on TV. About 10:30 I realized that I was emotionally exhausted and just crashed only to find myself waking up at 2:30 AM. For the next 45 minutes as I struggled to go back to sleep, my mind kept going “It’s time to go. James, it’s time to go! The Road is calling! Let’s go!” 

The Road Calls!

So finally giving in, I got up, took a quick shower and got packed. I was checked out and had the car loaded by 3:45 AM. Before I left Los Angeles perhaps for the last time, I drove by my place one last time. My house, my home, my Hacienda that had been the center of my life for the last 20 years. As I sat in the car and looked at her there in the moonlight, I said one silent last goodbye. I was off on a new life adventure, and she was waiting for the next family that would call her home. I said a silent prayer for both of us, started the car and drove the two blocks to Interstate 10. I merged into the late-night traffic and headed east out of the City of Angels.

For days before leaving, I had tried to think of which highways I wanted to head East on. My sister had urged me to take my time driving across the country and see all the things that I wanted to see. Yet, I had made this trip four times in the last year and a half, and I had stopped every place that I had wanted to stop and had seen everything that I needed to see. So that morning as I drove out of LA, I had no clear plan as to where I was going to go or what my timeline getting to Atlanta was going to be. So I just decide on Palm Springs. I didn’t know if I was going stop in Palm Springs, chill out at Desert Hot Springs or just keep on moving, but Palm Springs was going to be my first stop.  Palm Springs is about 90 miles from Los Angeles and that 90 miles even on 8 lane freeways usually takes at least two and half hours because of the California traffic. Yet at four in the morning there is little to no traffic, so I pulled into the parking lot at the large Morongo Casino on the outskirts of Palm Springs about 5:30 AM.

Morongo Casino, Resort & Spa is an Native American gaming casino, of the Morongo Band of Cahuilla Mission Indians. The Morongo Casino was opened in 2004. It is open seven days a week, 24 hours a day. The hotel has 310 rooms, and several restaurants and bars are part of the complex. I was already vaccinated so I went inside to find breakfast. The 24-hour restaurant was closed because of Covid and reduced hours, so I got a muffin and coffee at the bakery. Then wandered around and played video poker with the help of a Bloody Mary until 7 AM when the Road called again urging me on.

It is at that moment that I decided to drive the 60 miles to the Salton Sea and check it out. I had lived in Southern California for almost 40 years and never even thought much about seeing it and it was now or never. I headed east on I-10 toward Indio and got off on California 86 South and drove pass Coachella, the home of the famous music festival, and continued on toward the Salton Sea. You reach a point where you can take either the eastern shore on Highway 111 or the western shore on Highway 86. I choose the eastern shore which would lead me toward an artist colony I had heard of called Bombay Beach.

The Salton Sea is a shallow, landlocked body of water that has a high concentration of salts. It was created by water runoff from the Colorado River in 1905 when an irrigation canal head gate was broken through by spring floods diverting a portion of the river flow into the Salton Basin for two years before repairs were completed. The water in the formerly dry lake bed created the modern lake that is about 15 by 35 miles. The lake would have dried up, but farmers used generous amounts of Colorado River water and let the excess flow into the lake. In the 1950s and into the ’60s, the area became a resort destination, and communities grew with hotels and vacation homes. However, by the 1970’s, the lake had begun to shrink and become more inhospitable to people and wildlife. In the 1980s, contamination from farm runoff promoted the outbreak and spread of diseases. Massive die-offs of the avian populations occurred, especially after the loss of several species of fish on which they depend. Salinity rose so high that large fish kills occurred, often blighting the beaches of the sea with their carcasses. Tourism was drastically reduced. During the 1990’s, the lake continued to shrink and the lake bed became exposed, the winds sent clouds of toxic dust into nearby communities making people sick and driving away what was left of the tourist communities. The Salton Sea has been called “the greatest environmental disaster in California”.

Advertising a place that no longer exists!

As I drove South on Hwy 111, I started to pass nurseries that grew palm trees but after a few miles even that sign of activity ended. You came into open arid desert with panoramic views of the lake on your right and nothing but endless desert on your left. I drove by what at one time had been communities, but now all the buildings were either boarded up or in disrepair. I drove by one community where people still lived, and I pulled off the highway to see what I could see. Most everybody in the community was older and at a local Community Center they were handing out food and supplies to the residents possibly because of COVID. What you soon began to understand is this is one of the last places that people with little or no resources can come to and stay in California. They could buy a cheap piece of property, or they might be able to find a room, small apartment or trailer for not much money, but there was just a sense of poverty and loneliness as I got back on Hwy 111.

The US Department of Interior has taken over much of the eastern shore of the lake and turned it into a preserve trying to maintain the wildlife and keep the lake from further eroding. There are many areas where the river has retreated so far from the lake that you can almost not see it from the highway, and these areas unless you have a pass or are willing to pay the daily entrance fee is the only way that you can get close to the lake. Finally I came to Bombay Beach which I had heard about on a television show which they had described as a colony of artists who were banding together on the edge of the Salton Sea. I turned off the highway into Bombay Beach and for the first few blocks as I headed towards the lake it seemed like it was doing well. There were a few art galleries, a restaurant, a couple of bars and a grocery store. Yet, as you drove the last few blocks toward the lake it suddenly became a cross between The Walking Dead and Mad Max. You had the feeling that you were in an apocalyptic ghost town and zombies were going to start walking down the road at any moment to eat you. For blocks, yard after yard of burned out houses and trailers were surrounded by junked furniture and trash. Every once in a while, you would see someone who had a small house or trailer who was trying to take care of their property but they were surrounded by chaos and garbage and ruin. It looked like a whole army of crystal meth heads had ransacked the town looking for anything that they could sell and moved on. The few people that I saw driving on the street or walking were all above 50 and they seemed old and beaten down. I drove out of Bombay Beach with a feeling of sadness at what looked like a desperate situation.

Desperation this way!

Continuing south on Hwy 111, it ultimately dumps out on Interstate 8 that runs between San Diego and Phoenix along the US southern border with Mexico. I turned left and headed east towards Yuma, AZ. A few years ago was the first time I’d ever gone to Yuma, and I have now been back five times. There’s something about this desert community and its colorful history mixed with it easy paced lifestyle that just appeals to me, although the extreme summer heat can makes it very inhospitable. As I drove east, I decide to stop one more time in Yuma before I headed towards Atlanta.

Yuma is located on the southwestern edge of the state of Arizona near the borders of California and Mexico. It is home to a number of snowbirds in the winter and other visitors are often enroute to Los Algodones, Mexico for cheap medical services or for the shopping. Yuma has been a stopping point for centuries. Before dams were constructed up and down the Colorado River, the river ran fast and deep and stretched wide in places, yet because of granite outcroppings the river was squeezed into a narrower channel and Yuma Crossing became known as the safest and easiest place to cross the river. The first Spanish conquistadors who helped settle Los Angeles and San Francisco did not sail up the California coast to settle those areas, they used Yuma Crossing on their way towards California.

Gowan Headquarters in the former US Post Office Building.

I pulled into town and checked into one of several hotels located in Yuma. There are all levels of hotels here from cheap to very luxurious because of the flow of Americans who cross into Los Algodones for easy to obtain medical treatment and prescriptions. I choose one relatively near the historic downtown area of Yuma. It was about noon and the weather was in the mid-80s in March as I headed downtown to get something to eat. Arizona had fairly open Covid laws so as I walked around, I saw people wearing masks and some people not. After lunch, I walked around the historic downtown area and saw many of their restored historic buildings. Some dating from the late 1890s all the way up until the 1960s. Yuma is one of the wealthiest farming communities in the United States specializing in growing winter vegetables for the US market. The Gowan Company is a family-owned agricultural business that started in Yuma and grew into a global leader in seeds and agricultural solutions. They have bought up many of the historic buildings and preserved them using them for office and storage space including many mid-century architectural gems.

Former JCPenney’s store from the 1950’s!

My odd schedule finally caught up with me and I went back to the hotel for a nap. Later, around 8 PM, I ventured out for dinner in the same downtown area. Afterward, I took another walk and ended up at the Red Bird Cage, one of the oldest saloons in Yuma, a real dive bar with friendly bartenders and a great juke box. It was a little close in there with a very casual mask and social distancing policy, but I managed to find a quiet corner of the bar to seat by myself.  As the bar began to fill up, a young couple sat down next to me, and we started talking. They were cousins and both really attractive people. Turns out he was an exotic dancer working in the Phoenix area mostly, and she (who I will call Ann) lived in Alaska working at the canneries up there about half the year. The other months, she returned home to Yuma to work in a family business, but she now really preferred Alaska. She told me that she almost did not return to Yuma this year because she just loved Alaska so much.

Colorado River

After talking for about an hour, some of their friends showed and things got a little rowdier. After a couple of rounds of drinks, they started talking about going to the strip club for the “dance off”. I asked what that was, and it turned out that there was some kind of dancing/stripping contest at the local club to see who had the best routine. Ann seemed to be in lust with one of the strippers and wanted to go support her. The whole gang got up to leave for the club, and Ann invited me along. With nothing better to do, I tagged along. Now going to a strip bar in the middle of pandemic is a very interesting undertaking with everyone wearing masks inside including the strippers as they walked around trying to get men to buy drinks. It was very strange to see a woman wearing almost nothing sit at a table chatting up a potential customer with a mask on. The image was just too weird for words.

The “dance off” began and Ann’s favorite came on second. Ann enthusiastically cheered her on while throwing dollar bills on the stage. By now it was about 1 AM and this time the Road was not calling, it was my Bed. So I said good night and drove back to the hotel. Yet as I got ready for bed, I reflected back on the past 24 hours and marveled at all the different things that happened. My leaving LA in the middle of the night, the casino, the desolation of Salton Sea and Bombay Beach, then driving to Yuma, meeting a woman in a desert bar who worked in Alaska and the strip/dance off contest. All in all, an extremely interesting way to leave California.  

Thanks for coming!

*Special thanks to Wikipedia for historic information on Salton Sea, Morongo Tribe, and Yuma, AZ. All photos by James Carey except The Open Road @ Popular Science/popsci.com and Leaving LA @KCRW LA.

**Quote from The Fellowship of the Ring, JRR Tolkien, Houghton Mifflin, Inc., 1938.

Copyright 2024, Carey-On Creative, LLC, Atlanta, GA. Tripswithjames.com is a trademark of Carey-on Creative, LLC.

Ode to a Home

A house is a home!

Well the packing continues, and we’re almost done. Painters and carpenters, realtors and workmen have been constantly coming in and out of the front door as I have packed and hauled boxes and things out of the attic and basement. Opening boxes of stuff I haven’t seen in years, giving stuff away and holding an estate sale which got rid of my record collection and most of my movie poster collection and my comic book collection. Yet there is so much left in this house!

When I first moved into this neighborhood called West Adams or Kenny Heights or Western Heights, a historical neighborhood just west of downtown Los Angeles, the neighbors called my three story, 65-foot-wide house built in the Spanish Mission Arts and Crafts style – the Hacienda because it looks like a Spanish Hacienda. And that name stuck not only as a nickname but as a reference to our house and also as the name of the business that grew out of having four extra bedrooms and other living spaces that this piece of property provided.

It’s hard to watch furniture that you’ve had in your life for 20-30 years, and in a few cases since I was born, being carted out the front door and loaded onto a truck by two men who really don’t care about the furniture at all. They are junk man and I have hired them to clear my house after on an estate sale that really didn’t get rid of a lot of things. I also don’t have time to hold endless garage sales to try in make this stuff go away. My house has 17 rooms. Why 17 rooms you ask? Are you an idiot? Well my first wife and I bought it for a song and then it became a business and I’ve run it as a guest house and an AirBnb since 2005. Literally hundreds of people have stayed at my house as guests. I’ve made friends with people all over the world. I met my second wife here. We’re no longer together but for a while she helped me run this place and also helped me write a one man show about my experiences of running a guest house where people from all over the world stayed.

But it’s time for me to move on. And it’s hard to see furniture that you care about being taken out and just thrown on the back of a truck with no attempt to protect them. You hope that they will end up going someplace where somebody cares for them but you’re not sure. It’s part of letting go. It’s not easy but it’s necessary.

I wonder if furniture has karma? Whether tables and chairs, sofas and antique desks have feelings and wonder where they’re going and what their outcome will be? Will they end up with someone that cares about them or will they end up in a junkyard?

I know houses have that because I felt it. My house and I’ve had a symbiotic relationship for 20 years. When I first bought her, she was in terrible shape and no one had lived in her for six years and over the past 20 years I have replaced the plumbing, the wiring, the roof, the furnace twice, painted the entire interior of the house all 17 rooms except for the dining room (I just never got around to that), sanded all the floors and made her beautiful and livable again. All during that time she has taken care of me by providing me with an excellent side income. Yet it is now time for us to part ways. I can’t afford to do the repairs that she needs to have done that will elevate her from just a comfortable house to an amazing house and that’s something she deserves. And my time in Los Angeles has ended and it’s important for me to go somewhere else. I will miss her. She has taken care of me and watched over me and provided me a place of comfort and retreat when the outside world got too tough. But as we part ways, I am hopefully she will be reborn as the magnificent house she deserves to be.

I miss my furniture, but I knew by taking it with me it would just weigh me down and I needed to let a lot of things go both materially and spiritually. I’ll miss my beautiful old house. She’s been my constant companion for 20 years. The place I could always come back to and be rejuvenated. I will miss my magnificent lady, my Hacienda, my house, my home!

Obtaining Cliché Status!

I am sure you have heard the old cliche about the guy who gets a divorce from his wife, sells his house and all his possessions and then takes off on a trip around the world to find himself? Well, I always thought that was a stupid idea! The wanderlust part of me always thought it was kind of cool, but the practical part of me thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Who gives up their life, their possessions, their job, their business to set out around the world to find themselves because wherever you go there you are. So just deal with it!

Well I have become that cliche!

The Cliché

Due to a dissolving marriage caused by lies, cheating, manipulation, and resentment, my wife and I decided to divorce each other after nine years together and five years of marriage. A very stormy relationship filled with passion and anger and arguing and love. Our views on marriage were just too different, and so what at first was two people trying to figure out how to hang onto each other became two people who were tired of the battles until it became two people who just didn’t care anymore. Like most guys, I hung on longer than my wife did. It has been my experience that when a woman tells you that she’s no longer in love with you, that’s the end and she’s not coming back. Guys tend to hang on longer and rehash the relationship over and over again to find out where it went wrong or what they did wrong or how they can put it back together or will she come back, and the answer is always no. So I found myself still hanging on and waiting for my wife to come back even though she had already found another lover and had moved on with her life. Unfortunately, she never told me that. She kept telling me that she was still just licking her wounds and staying at home to avoid the pandemic and working extremely hard at her job as a film translator. We had decided to blocked each other on social media to save conflicts and hurt feelings, yet one day a good mutual friend showed me her Facebook page and it was filled with references to her new boyfriend and the exciting new life they were leading. So what had started out as an amiable divorce proceeding that we did ourselves quickly dissolved into anger and accusations that ended up with us both ending all communication with each other.

So much stuff to get rid of

The result of which was a deep depression that was helped along by the COVID-19 restrictions in Los Angeles which took me a long time to work my way out from. Then one day I woke up and knew it was time to get out of here. I’ve lived in my home for 20 years. It has taken care of me, provided for me, created a business for me, and for much of my adult life as it was the first thing I had ever owned it defined me to a degree. It’s a large arts and craft house located in a historic neighborhood in Los Angeles and I have lived there with great pride as I have tried to restore this home over 20 years. In many ways I thought I would always be there till the end of my life. Yet with the dissolution of my marriage I realized that the City of Los Angeles a place that I’ve lived in for almost 40 years had suddenly seem to become two blocks wide and one block deep. That all my neighbors seemed to know more about me than I did. I felt like I had become a social pariah and that nobody wanted to talk to me or be my friend. Of course that was not true but everything in my house and everything in Los Angeles had become an emotional trigger for me that made me recall my wife and our failed relationship.

The stuff that is going with me.

So one morning I woke up and I became the cliché. The feeling became so strong then I could literally not sit still. I became the man who is literally getting rid of all of his possessions in an effort to find a new direction and a new life. My destination at least temporarily is an apartment in Atlanta, Georgia where as soon as I arrive and unpack my few possessions, I will probably jump on a plane and go to the Caribbean for two months to work on a suntan, lick my wounds and drink my share of umbrella drinks.

One of these is mine!

Yet, trying to sell your house and get rid of all your possessions takes a little bit more time than you might think. I was thinking that I might be able to accomplish this in just a few weeks. Yet this odyssey has been now going on for three plus months. My house is 116-year-old, and while wonderful does need a few upgrades. It’s a hot market and it’s a hot property but there’s a lot of stuff to get rid of, there were things that my realtor wanted me to deal with before he would put it on the market, and I had to deal with a tenant problem. I have a guest house in the back and a tenant that I needed to move out yet because of the COVID-19 rent restrictions and California’s tenant relocation laws, I had to pay this man several hundred dollars to leave because it’s not his fault that my life has imploded. There is a sum that I’m legally required to pay him, yet he wanted to hold me up for much more money because of the COVID-19 eviction restrictions so this caused a logjam. My realtor wanted me to spend hundreds of dollars on fixing up certain parts of my house which I knew the next owner is just going to come in and rip out, so we came to an understanding. And trying to find a reputable estate sale company took some time but we’re almost there. The few repairs start in just a couple of days, the tenant will be leaving by the middle of the month and the estate sale is next week, so progress is made. If all goes well, I’ll be out of here in a month saying goodbye to LA and headed to my next adventure wherever that may be, Atlanta or beyond.

The packing never ends.

This will be a little bit of an ongoing series that every once in a while, I’ll drop in a new story about my wanderings as I transitioned from one life to another. I hope you enjoy the ride and thanks for continuing to be part of my blog.

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